


The Best Day of Summer

by robotboy



Category: Captain America (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Vampire Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 04:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: Steve Rogers is bitten by a vampire in 1943. Only Bucky knows.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> About canon: this is set in 616, where Bucky is Steve’s younger sidekick. It should be easy enough to follow for a movie fan. The story is inspired by the short comic called Operation Tooth Fairy, where Steve gets bitten by a vampire. [You can read the whole thing here.](http://r0b0tb0y.tumblr.com/post/173846852657)  
> Bucky stores plastic explosives in his arm, [as seen in Avengers/Invaders #2. Warning: it’s gory.](http://r0b0tb0y.tumblr.com/post/173848255267/avengersinvaders-2)  
> Untagged pairings: Steve/Tony and Steve/Sharon are mentioned in passing.  
> Age warning: Bucky is 18 and Steve is 22, but it’s mentioned that they’ve wanted each other for some time, and Bucky was sexually active before turning 18.

Steve was cold.

Winter has barely started in Romania and he shivered like he hadn’t in years. Like when he was lodging eight floors up in the Lower East Side, in that room where the wind whistled through the misaligned window and the chill crept into his bones. He hadn’t felt it get inside him for two winters, not since before the serum.

Namor had said he’d be fine. Steve had still been half-conscious at the time, running his tongue over his eyeteeth—they were normal-shaped again, but ached as if they’d been filed down that way. Vampirism. He’d been bitten by—then _he’d_ bitten—the Baron Blood. That was the acrid taste lingering; the Baron’s venom. Namor had told them that Steve ingesting the Baron’s blood had reversed the effects of the vampire infection in Steve. And then he’d said just as casually that there was no cure—Steve couldn’t follow whether that statement had also applied to him, Namor being cryptic at the best of times. But as he’d begun to feel himself again, the relief felt through the team was palpable. Back at camp, they’d written in their reports that the serum had overpowered the venom. Not that Captain Dawson would believe anything about vampires when he read it.

Except now, tucked in his cot opposite Bucky’s in their shared tent, Steve felt cold again. The kind of cold like the beginnings of chilblains, that itched too deep to scratch. He rolled over, feeling as though his skin would rather crawl right off him, and tucked his stiffening fingers between his knees.

Bucky noticed. That was what you got for bunking with the scout, and for training him so damn well.

‘You’re shivering,’ Bucky rolled to face Steve in the dark. ‘Same as you were this afternoon.’

‘I’m okay, Buck,’ Steve told him, trying to keep his voice measured. Bucky _sounded_ warm, the kind of warmth vodka had the moment after you swallowed it.

Bucky paid no heed to Steve’s lie, clambering out of his cot and coming to sit by Steve. He touched Steve’s cheek with the back of his hand and made a noise. ‘You’re freezing.’

Steve should have told him to go, but Bucky’s fingers were as good as the sun coming out.

‘If the cure didn’t work,’ Bucky said. ‘We gotta do something.’

’I’m not going to hurt you, Bucky,’ Steve blurted out, before he was sure what Bucky was offering.

‘I know,’ Bucky said. But he couldn’t have forgotten what Steve almost did before the venom wore off.

‘Earlier,’ Steve insisted. ‘When I came at you. I didn’t know what I was doing.’

‘Of course not,’ Bucky assured him, with a long sigh through his teeth. ‘Only, before that… you gave me the gun.’

‘Bucky…’ Steve rasped, taking Bucky’s shoulders. ‘If I hurt you, you know I’m not me anymore, right? What’s _me_ wants to protect you. If I ever stopped doing that? You protect yourself _from_ me.’

’Yeah, I know,’ Bucky said, far too dismissively. ‘But the thing is, Cap? It was like you knew. When it was happening. The way you looked at me…’

They’d been over this before. Not in words, exactly, but in looks that tear away too quickly or linger too long. In private sounds they’d stopped bothering to hide when they’re bunked a tent together. In the way one body angled slightly toward the other at the camp showers. In the vague shapes in Steve’s sketchbook and in the same blue eyes of all Bucky’s romantic conquests. Conquests that weren’t Steve, were _never_ Steve, but in a way both Steve and Bucky were painfully aware of and inarticulably disappointed by.

It was singing louder under his skin.

‘You’re hungry.’

Steve whimpered, and caught Bucky’s hand in his. The salty-earth smell was so familiar, and tonight it was so much _better_ , so hard not to wrap his lips around.

And Bucky would let him.

Steve jerked his head away. Bucky, always so stubborn, took Steve’s jaw and titled his head up. Steve’s pulse jumped to the touch.

‘Just enough to take the edge off, okay?’ Bucky’s eyes were a twinkle in the dark.

‘We can’t,’ Steve answered, furious at himself for already _considering_ the idea, for all the times he should tell Bucky _we can’t_. ‘It’s not safe.’

‘You think I can’t take care of myself?’

‘Not around me, you can’t,’ Steve wanted it to sound like a joke, but the way Bucky held his face had both of them short of breath. Steve was sure he’d have Bucky’s thumbprint burned into his chin.

‘Christ, how many guys you think make me bleed in a week? All part of the job, isn’t it?’

‘ _Bucky_ ,’ Steve hissed, startling at the strange inflection it gave his voice. ‘You’ll catch it too.’

‘Steve, think about it,’ Bucky’s grip shifted from a stubborn hold to something inviting, fingertips on Steve’s cheek. ‘If you have it, I’ll have it. Sooner or later.’

Steve exhaled, his lips open and brushing the swell of Bucky’s palm. It would be so easy, he realised, that ache in his teeth coming back as they grazed Bucky’s skin. Bucky was breathing with him, a deep and steady inhale as Steve drowned in the smell of him. Steve’s tongue flicked out instinctively and Bucky let out the faintest sound, pushing the meat of his palm properly into Steve’s mouth.

Steve’s teeth sunk in, and Bucky’s blood was bright, electric, like the kick of a rifle and the best day of summer. Warm and thick and rich. Steve swallowed and it made him groan, and Bucky gasped, leaning his weight and warmth into Steve’s side. Steve was grasping Bucky’s wrist, so tight it must be bruising.

The third swallow changed from salt to sour, a blunt flavour that made Steve’s nose crinkle. He withdrew, tongue running across his sharpened teeth, lips smacking as he struggled to identify the strangeness of it. As he adjusted his grip on Bucky’s arm, he realised what it was.

‘ _Bucky_ ,’ he growled. He could hardly believe himself even as he said it, the staggering hypocrisy of telling Bucky off for doing something dangerous when Steve was _drinking his blood_.

He pressed his thumb into Bucky’s forearm. Under Bucky’s skin, something firm shifted between the bones. It was the narrow stick of plastic explosive that Bucky had embedded under his skin by scoring his arm open and slipping it in. Bucky had revealed it while getting them out of a tight spot once, after which Steve had chewed him out for being so unbelievably stupid.

‘Can you _taste_ it?’ Bucky asked in fascination. ‘Really?’

‘You said you’d take it out!’ Steve hissed at him.

‘Well if it _tastes bad_ , Cap, of _course_ ,’ Bucky was rolling his eyes in the dark. Steve could tell.

‘Because it’ll _blow your damn arm off_ , of _course_ ,’ Steve snapped. ‘If it doesn’t get infected.’

‘Fine. Look, you want the other arm, then?’ Bucky asked, like it was nothing.

As angry, as ashamed as he was, Steve would have begged him for it if he hadn’t offered.

‘You’ll have marks,’ he said, but his voice was quavering and Bucky could hear it. Steve knew, not just because he was familiar with Bucky’s sharp senses. He knew now because now he had something of Bucky’s inside him, had had his mouth on Bucky’s skin. They’d always moved as if connected on a tether, one mind in two bodies, but now it was something more than that. So Bucky knew Steve wanted more, and Steve knew when Bucky climbed off the cot it would only be for a moment.

Steve might have felt the whisper of wool as Bucky stripped. He was drunk on blood, uncertain whether he could see in the dark or simply feel an echo of Bucky’s thoughts, if he could smell the musk of Bucky undressed or if it was his own arousal answering.

The cot dipped by Steve’s ear, then Bucky swung his leg over, kneeling around Steve and sitting on his chest. Steve whined as heat radiated from Bucky and the scent of him became overwhelming. His own hips lifted from the thin mattress instinctively, because it wasn’t only bloodlust driving him now. The movement didn’t unbalance Bucky: few things could. Bucky ruffled his hair to soothe him, then began carding it between his fingers. It made Steve’s scalp tingle, and he tilted his nose up to press it along Bucky’s forearm—the right one this time—and press a kiss there. Bucky’s hand slid around to cup his jaw, thumb peeling Steve’s lower lip out and testing the sharpness of the fangs that had re-emerged. He made a thoughtful humming sound.

He guided Steve’s face to his thigh. ‘ _There_ ,’ he murmured, gravel in his voice Steve had seldom heard before.

The femoral artery sang to Steve, the same melody that was getting louder under his skin. And if he did bite there, he could be certain it was all just a monstrous drive, this irresistible urge to devour Bucky. He could convince himself _it’s not me anymore_. But he found a smaller vein, hidden in the crease of Bucky’s thigh, where nobody would see the punctures. Because it wasn’t only the monster that wanted Bucky.

Bucky’s skin was taut and dusted with fine hair where Steve nipped it. Bucky shivered, cradling Steve’s head to keep him from pulling away. Blood trickled over Steve’s tongue, and he lapped at it, savouring the subtlest changes in taste between palm and thigh: darker, like the wild game they cooked over campfires. Steve’s mouth closed over the wound and he suckled at it, his own moan echoed by Bucky’s. Bucky was the one whose hips shifted now, crowding Steve’s face, offering himself.

Steve reached out to anchor him, and just to touch, clamping down on the backs of Bucky’s thighs. The muscle was so tightly corded, and it was so easy to move his grip to Bucky’s ass. It fit under Steve’s spread fingers, and Steve could feel each twitch and flex as Bucky reacted to the pressure of Steve’s mouth.

Bucky’s cock, already half-hard, stirring alongside Steve’s cheek. It was too much, Steve pulling away from the bite long enough to slide his face over the skin, nosing blindly and dragging wet lips up Bucky’s hardening length. Bucky would have collapsed onto him if Steve hadn’t been holding him up: he clutched Steve’s hair and swore, hushed but fervent.

The two temptations warred in Steve. To suck Bucky down, like Bucky loved to describe girls doing, or to take more blood, and purge the last tendrils of the otherworldly chill.

Bucky chose for him, pulling his hair gently. ‘Get what you need,’ he breathed. ‘Then get what _I_ need.’

Steve couldn’t have disobeyed if he wanted to. He latched onto the wound again and sunk in, sucking so hard Bucky would have a bruise encircling the twin scars. Steve could feel himself flushing as Bucky’s blood bloomed in him, tasting how Bucky’s pulse offered him more, and more.

Bucky groaned, the sound cutting off as he stuffed a fist in his mouth. Steve knew the habit, but to be the cause of it was something new entirely. He was painfully hard, and Bucky was too. Bucky felt as light as a bird on top of him: it terrified Steve sometimes. Right now he feared he could suck Bucky dry if he stayed any longer. It was getting harder to think, the heat an inferno surging between both of them. Steve drew himself away, his head spinning and that tether to Bucky remaining, still filling Steve, warming him from the inside out.

He barely whispered it—‘ _Thank you_ ’—just his lips moving over Bucky’s skin. It was selfish even to say, but all of this was selfish. Bucky made him selfish; he always did.

‘If I’ve caught it now,’ Bucky said, his voice trembling even as he joked. ‘I’m sucking you back.’

Steve could only nod, laughing breathlessly. He lifted Bucky off his chest until he could wrestle his own shirt off, settling Bucky back down before the complaining could start. Steve kissed Bucky’s belly and then ripped the shirt efficiently, bundling up a padding for the wound before binding it in place with strips.

He stroked the skin around the bandage. Bucky was still hard, still close enough to Steve’s face that the heat radiated from him.

‘What you need,’ Steve said. ‘I need it, too.’

‘I know,’ Bucky answered, fingers tangling into Steve’s hair again. ‘Known a long time, Cap.’

_Don’t say that_ , Steve wanted to say, but it was easier to mouth at Bucky’s cock again. It started clumsy, things he’d only imagined doing, driven by desire. Bucky reacted as if he was an expert, writhing and tugging Steve’s hair. Steve’s lips, still bloody, slid around the head of Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s hips jolted forward. Steve took Bucky deeper and sucked, hollowing his cheeks. Bucky’s touch slipped from Steve’s hair to his face, touching Steve’s cheek to feel himself there.

Steve groaned, making Bucky shudder. He let Bucky fuck his face, the heavy scent filling him each time he inhaled. The taste was as good as his blood—better, for what it meant between them. Bucky slipped out of Steve’s mouth and Steve resumed licking, kissing him, nuzzling the hair at the base of Bucky’s crotch before taking Bucky in again. This time he sucked with such pressure that Bucky’s thighs tightened around Steve’s head, vicelike, everywhere. When Steve took Bucky as deep as he could, Bucky began shaking, curled over Steve. All he could feel, hear, smell, taste, was Bucky. Stuttered gasps were bitten back, until Steve growled in encouragement. Bucky was whispering his name, hissing the _S_ , tripping over the _t_ each time, the _e_ becoming a sharp whine the the moment he came.

Steve swallowed, kept swallowing, until Bucky was shivering, tapping his cheek to slow him down. His legs were slack now, weight settling back on Steve’s chest. He ran his fingers over Steve’s lips, over his chin soaked with spit and blood and come, fingertip sliding into Steve’s mouth to find blunted eyeteeth in their normal shape again.

With a deep sigh, Bucky found the remains of the torn shirt and swiped it over Steve’s face. At least it was dark, so Bucky couldn’t see him blushing while he was cleaned up. Bucky finished with a brief kiss to Steve’s cheek, tossing the stained fabric on the floor. Steve bumped their noses together, afraid if he began to kiss Bucky he’d never stop, but he wanted to—he wanted Bucky to know that he wanted to.

‘Now…’ Bucky said, arching back. His hand trailed down Steve’s waist and over his underwear, where Steve was so hard a damp patch was beginning to leak through. Bucky cupped him confidently, while all Steve’s breath left his body at once. His hips jerked upward when Bucky squeezed, and Bucky’s other hand pressed down on Steve’s shoulder to steady him. Bucky shuffled himself down Steve’s body until he straddling Steve’s waist. Twisting, he pulled Steve’s waistband under Steve’s cock and stroked Steve a few times. Steve bucked, gasping.

Bucky kept a firm grasp on Steve’s cock as he angled his hips. As he eased back, legs spread, Steve’s cock slid down the crease of Bucky’s ass, guided by Bucky’s hand. Steve whimpered, so close to the heat he’d tasted inside Bucky earlier.

‘Like that?’ Bucky murmured, as if he needed to ask. Steve could only grab Bucky, hands planting on his hips and steering the rocking, undulating pace Bucky set. Bucky was gasping like Steve was really fucking him, clenching his ass around Steve’s cock. Steve was already slick with arousal, sliding along Bucky’s ass, so close to what they wanted. Bucky shivered whenever the head of Steve’s cock brushed his hole, quickening his pace, murmuring filthy things he wanted Steve to do to him.

Steve couldn’t hold out, not with that, and Bucky’s free hand clamped suddenly on Steve’s mouth. He came with the salty-earth taste on his tongue, a moan suppressed by Bucky, and promises of what they’d do next time Bucky swiped vaseline from somewhere.

Steve dragged Bucky down into a kiss, as hungry as bloodlust had been before Bucky filled him, fierce and full of everything he’d never said. Bucky slotted into his arms like he’d always belonged there, wriggling the covers over them to keep them both warm.

***

After the first time it was easier to let it happen again.

The chill came and went, striking maybe once a season. Bucky was with him more often than that. Every tent they shared, every time they had the showers to themselves, and even when they camped with Invaders or Commandoes around, Bucky was stealthy enough to slip unnoticed into Steve’s embrace. In dugouts, in burned-out houses, once in the bed of a truck, they barely kept their hands off each other. And when the cold found Steve, a long aching hunger that started in his bones and finished at his teeth, Bucky offered himself. He never caught whatever Steve carried, something in the serum keeping it from being contagious. All he had was a dozen little scars in telltale pairs that nobody but Steve knew how to find, and nobody but Steve understood. It had always been that way with the two of them, a language only they could speak, two hearts and one beat.

Spring had barely started in England when Steve’s heart stopped.


	2. Chapter 2

He was frozen for fifty years, but he was cold for much longer.

He didn’t tell anyone in his new life, his new team. It was just another secret about Bucky, another taboo Captain America couldn’t break, another loss that he couldn’t put into words. The tests he was put through by heroes and villains alike never identified whatever non-contagious strain of vampirism he carried among the cocktail of chemicals that made up Steve Rogers.

Namor knew, probably. But Namor knew everything and never said anything, so it hardly mattered.

It was an ache that never went away. But so many things from the war hurt, he hardly noticed. He missed everything about Bucky. Hunger was nothing next to grief. He’d always be like this anyway: unsatisfied, wanting, incomplete. Always colder than he used to be, even to the people he came to love. Not even Tony recognised it, and Tony would have offered his blood in a heartbeat. Steve smelt it in him, a flavour of metal-and-alcohol, the temptation for both of them to drink and indulge and go too far. But he couldn’t ask again, and if Tony knew he held something back? It always looked enough like loss.

And sometimes—only sometimes—if a body went missing during cleanup, nobody noticed.

***

Steve was cold, this time because he left the window open.

If Sharon were here she’d tell him he was being reckless. She’d be right. But Steve had been sleeping alone since London, since finding the Winter Soldier and restoring Bucky’s memories. Bucky escaped him twice after that, in West Virginia and London. But he remembered Steve, and he was out there somewhere. A locked window wouldn’t keep the Winter Soldier out, but whatever foolhardy, irrational chance there was that Bucky might see it as an invitation, Steve had to take it.

So he was cold, not the cold of being trapped in ice but the cold of wind whistling in again, creeping into his bones.

And someone crept in with it.

Steve was out of the bed in an instant, his heart thundering as though it wanted to catch up with every beat it missed while they were apart. Bucky was a silhouette, moving soundlessly while barefoot in soft clothes. They’d trained him so damn well.

‘Steve,’ Bucky breathed. Hissing the _S_ like he used to. ‘It’s really you?’

‘ _Bucky_ ,’ Steve’s voice came out a stifled sob. He was so sure he’d frighten Bucky away, but to let him slip between Steve’s fingers again, that would be worse. ‘It’s me.’

Steve pulled him into a hug. Even if Bucky fled, or tried to stab him, he had to—he couldn’t let Bucky go without holding him once. Bucky was stiff in his arms, and Steve was about to release him when he sank into it, sighing, embracing Steve just as tightly. It hurt a little, but it never hurt more than _not_ holding Bucky.

Bucky was bulkier than he had been in the war, not just from the mechanical arm. His hair was longer, but when Steve buried his nose in Bucky’s scalp, it was a scent he knew so well, so intimately, unmistakably and irreplaceably _Bucky_. Tears sprung in the corner of Steve’s eyes as he inhaled something he thought he’d forgotten, thought he’d never have again.

‘If it’s really you, then you need—’ Bucky’s voice sounded rusty with disuse.

‘I need _you_ ,’ Steve said. It was too much too say, but it was out.

‘You need me,’ Bucky echoed. 

Then he took Steve’s hand and slid it under the waistband of his loose pants. Steve should have stopped him but he had to know, too. Whatever had happened to the Winter Soldier, only Bucky, _his_ Bucky, would have those scars. Steve found them where he’d left them, indentations in telltale pairs at the crease of Bucky’s thigh. Bucky’s face was so close to his, both of them breathless, searching.

Bucky kissed him like they were drowning men, and Steve thought wildly for a minute that perhaps it was true, that when they drowned together sixty years ago they never really stopped until this moment. Bucky breathed life back into him. Steve’s hand moved to Bucky’s hip to hold him in place, despite the temptation to feel the scars again, to touch Bucky’s cock as it swelled already against Steve’s. 

Bucky’s stubble scratched Steve’s face, and Steve’s teeth grazed the inside of Bucky’s lip as they lengthened. Both of them groaned, both of them burned. Steve held Bucky, dragging open wet kisses from Bucky’s mouth to his jaw. Bucky tilted his head back, exposing his throat for Steve. A growl started in Steve’s chest as his teeth grazed over the skin. Bucky’s heartbeat jumped under his lips, thrilled, but Steve continued his path down to Bucky’s clavicle. He found the zipper of Bucky’s hoodie and pulled it down, his mouth following. He sucked at Bucky’s nipple, enough that it peaked through the dampened shirt.

Steve dropped to his knees, the hand on Bucky’s hip twisting to tug his pants down. Bucky helped, stepping quickly out of his clothes and easing one leg over Steve’s shoulder. Steve was as overwhelmed as he used to be by the smell, the heat, but he took only a moment to savour it. He’d waited too long. He pierced the soft skin among a pattern of scars—his old work—and Bucky’s blood spilled into his mouth. Bucky made no sound, but he twitched, clasping Steve’s shoulder and digging his heel into Steve’s back.

It was summer after half a century of winter. It was a wildfire tearing through every fragile thing he’d used to hold himself together since his reawakening. It was red and salty and selfish.

Steve was pulling Bucky’s legs around him like he could bury himself in everything he’d missed. Blood coursed over his tongue, surging in Steve’s veins and reigniting parts of himself he’d forgotten existed. It was as good as the serum all over again. Steve sucked tender flesh into his mouth to feel blood stream from the wound. Bucky’s knees began to buckle, his weight dropping onto Steve’s shoulder. He was curled around Steve’s head, holding Steve’s neck and arm for balance. But he wasn’t pulling away or tapping out, and he hadn’t yet allowed Steve to take too much.

Before Steve could think the better of it, he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s thighs and stood. Bucky gasped in surprise but didn’t struggle, adjusting his balance as Steve lifted him off the floor. He was considerably heavier than when Steve last picked him up, but moved as fluidly as always, an extension of Steve. Steve pulled away from the bite to toss Bucky onto the bed, a controlled descent that kept Bucky’s legs wrapped around his head even as Bucky landed solidly on the mattress. Steve hugged Bucky’s thighs and bit again, taking one long, deep swallow before stopping. He licked the cuts clean until they only trickled, and Bucky gradually unlocked his legs from around Steve’s neck. Steve kept one palm on Bucky as he moved, reaching blindly for a first aid kit under the bed. He dressed the wound, always touching Bucky, afraid he’d slip away if Steve let go for a second.

In spite of the blood loss, Bucky was aroused, like he always used to get when they did this. Steve stroked Bucky’s hip cautiously, and Bucky angled up to meet the touch. Steve dropped a light kiss on Bucky’s lower belly and Bucky reached for him, a firm grip at the back of Steve’s skull. Talking about it might be too much for now, but they were both fluent in this. Steve traced kisses from the base of Bucky’s cock to the tip, tongue flicking out to remind himself of the taste. Then he ducked his head lower, nuzzling the flesh of Bucky’s ass. Bucky squeezed Steve’s neck, hips tilting off the bed to give him access. Steve bit gently, not enough to puncture the skin, but enough to make Bucky squirm. Steve shuffled forward on his knees and Bucky’s heel planted on his shoulder, giving them both leverage. He grabbed Bucky’s free leg and spread it, making the space to lick from Bucky’s tailbone to his balls. Bucky shivered, his lower back arching off the mattress until he was curled around and giving himself to Steve while Steve swiped his tongue, firm and fast. When Bucky was slick with sweat and spit, Steve lapped at his hole, relentless as Bucky’s breath came in sharp bursts. He was determined to draw a sound from Bucky, to scratch at the Winter Soldier’s stoic silence without chasing him away.

Steve worked his tongue inside and Bucky whimpered, shuddering. His hand on Steve’s neck urged him closer, deeper, and Steve twisted his tongue until Bucky was bent in half, writhing in Steve’s lap. He wasn’t quite forming words yet, but pleading syllables emerged from bitten-off moans.

Bucky held him so tight he could hardly come up for air—he hardly wanted to—but then Bucky’s metal hand clapped his shoulder and clenched his shirt, pulling. The thin fabric tore but Bucky kept tugging, until Steve slipped his tongue out of Bucky and crawled up his body until they were face to face. Bucky made a snarling noise and yanked the shirt over Steve’s head, and Steve wriggled free before it was completely shredded. Bucky dragged him down for a filthy kiss, his tongue just as determined as Steve’s had been a moment earlier. Their teeth clashed and Steve didn’t care, because he’d have red marks from the burn of Bucky’s beard that wouldn’t fade until the morning, and that was longer than he suspected Bucky would stay.

Bucky was still grabbing at him, dragging Steve’s shorts down, pulling their bodies together. He hooked his ankles around Steve’s back and bucked. Steve huffed against Bucky’s throat and stretched for his side table drawer, finding a bottle of lube by touch. The moment he had it, Bucky jerked his hips until Steve was solidly back on top of him, snatching the lube from Steve’s hand and slathering Steve’s fingers with it. Bucky took two fingers as beautifully as he used to. He was stronger now, his thighs tight around Steve—or it could just be the gravity of being pulled back to together. Steve’s wrist hardly fit between them, Bucky folded almost in half to meet him, telling Steve it was time by reaching down for Steve’s cock and jerking it until it was slick. Steve wasn’t sure he could’ve held out longer, and he sank into Bucky’s tight heat like coming home. Bucky’s eyes shone in the dark, meeting the intensity of Steve’s gaze before he began to move. Bucky was all tangled around him, twisting to pull them closer, metal arm winding around to bring Steve’s hips flush to his. They held one another close, breathing, then Steve rocked—not enough to separate them, really, just to move, to feel Bucky slide and drag, rocking and making him shiver. Then the metal arm pulled harder, and Steve found he liked being driven. His hips snapped into Bucky, a rhythm he remembered, and Bucky met the pace.

‘ _Buck_ ,’ Steve spoke through gritted teeth, reaching between them to touch Bucky’s cock. It almost jumped into his hand, and as he stroked Bucky’s head fell back, throat bared again. His voice came in short grunts. Bucky’s body was as tight and hardened as Steve remembered, with new scars, new muscle. Steve learned Bucky again from the inside out, fucking him with a visceral need that had ached far deeper than hunger. It was never rough, or rougher than Bucky liked to take, but it was urgent, desperate, something Steve could convince himself that if they only had this again, tonight, it would be enough. It couldn’t, of course, nothing could ever be enough. Nothing was ever as good as Bucky, and nobody was ever as good as Bucky. But he could believe Bucky knew, and he could promise all the things he’d said to no-one in sixty years now that Bucky was in his blood again.

Bucky was quivering, clinging to him, close to the edge. His nails scratched lines in Steve’s back, and his cock pulsed in Steve’s hand. His eyes were unfocused and catching enough of the moonlight that Steve could see the warm brown of his irises.

Bucky was whining now, his voice finally escaping him as he came. ‘Steve, _Steve—_ ’ and then, ‘ _Cap…_ ’

That, of all things, set Steve off. Bucky caught his shout with a kiss, driving the air out of both of them as they crashed together. They held each other tight enough to bruise, as if they could collapse their bodies into a single space. Steve didn’t pull out, kept them locked together and surely crushing Bucky with his weight, but Bucky wouldn’t have let him move. They kissed until Steve’s head was spinning, and only after that did they tumble to one side, Bucky pulling the blankets around and Steve anchoring him in place.

As sleep tugged Steve’s mind, he wondered if it wasn’t a strategy. Maybe Bucky had left him too sated, too warmed by blood and sex that he couldn’t plead with Bucky to stay. He could only tether him with touch, trying to trap summer under his skin.

Bucky was gone in the morning, but he’d be back before the next winter.


End file.
